


tumbleweeds

by fanfictionandcats



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bandits & Outlaws, F/M, On the Run, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:50:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2683280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictionandcats/pseuds/fanfictionandcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m starting to forget what non-processed food tastes like.” <br/>He smirks, “Twinkies too low-rent for you, Princess?” </p><p>They’re not friends. They’re allies. They’re just people who were brought together through one common good (or, better said, hatred.) That is the only thing they have in common."</p><p>MODERN AU - Clarke helps Bellamy shoot Jaha to avenge her father and then they both go on the run</p>
            </blockquote>





	tumbleweeds

**Author's Note:**

> modern-day outlaw AUs are my new jam so here i am with some outlaw!Bellarke 
> 
> This is obviously AU but in the basic canon of the show this would happen before the 100 got sent to the ground, so Clarke still thinks Wells ratted out her father and doesn't know about Abby, Bellamy still hasn't seen Octavia, etc.

They’re outlaws, technically. Police are looking for them, their names splattered all over the huge billboards on the interstate as some of the government’s most wanted. Assassinating the governor, Clarke learns, can do that to a person.

She stares out of the car at the dusty road they just pulled off of, boxed in on both sides by flat, hot desert and pimpled with gas stations every some miles. A part of her wishes she could have kept her phone, just to let her mother know that she was okay, but she knew she couldn’t. Bellamy smashed it with the bottom of his shoe their second day out, and she didn’t look back.

They must be somewhere in or near Arizona by now. She should get a postcard, she says to herself vaguely. The door of the gas station store opens.

“Here.” Bellamy grunts, throwing the plastic bag full of food, a magazine and a box of Marlboro Lights into her lap through the open window, and rounding the car to the driver’s side.

As he sits down and pulls the door closed behind him, Clarke starts to dig through the bag.

“I’m starting to forget what non-processed food tastes like.”

He smirks, “Twinkies too low-rent for you, Princess?”

She rolls her eyes, but there isn’t nearly as much acid in his tone as there had been last week, so she counts it as a victory.

They’re not friends. They’re allies. They’re just people who were brought together through one common good (or, better said, hatred.) That is the only thing they have in common.

They knew each other, vaguely, at school. He graduated a few years ahead of her though, then moved into local training for the military. But he dropped out when his mother died, to stay close to his sister, even though she’d been put into foster care when he had been found an unreliable guardian.

And he was a janitor at the Capitol building. Clarke remembers that much. When Shumway came to her with the plan and the reward, getting to know who she’d be pulling off the murder with wasn’t at her top list of priorities. She got lucky though, that it was Bellamy. As much as she hated to admit to herself, she wasn’t strong enough to make this alone at all, and with him there, keeping her freedom seemed like a real possibility.

“We should start driving again, get some more distance between us and that city we passed last night.” Clarke says.

“You drive, then.” He replies, already halfway out of his seat. “I’ve been up for two days, and you slept all through yesterday.”

Clarke nods. Still with half a twinkie in her mouth, she pulls the car out onto the road again. Bellamy starts in on the cigarettes as soon as possible, cupping his hand around the flame to shield it from the wind.

“That’s a disgusting habit.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Expensive, too.”

She expects him to bite back, but he just shrugs.

“They help me relax.” The cigarette bobs on his lip as he talks.

The pair lapse into a comfortable silence, the air whooshing through the used car’s open windows the only thing heard for a couple hours.

She asked him, the day after everything had happened, what he gained from shooting Governor Jaha. They had driven straight through the night, the adrenaline wearing off and guilt setting in. The sun was coming up, and she’d asked him in the quiet light of morning. There was something about that moment that made him want to be honest. His sister - he’d said - it was for her.

“Shumway promised she’d get pardoned and released on parole.” He’d told her calmly, like relaying facts that he had practiced saying in his head for months. “She deserves to be free, even if I can’t be there to protect her.”

“He put my father in prison. For life.” She said through gritted teeth, her throat threatening to close from her effort to not cry. “My father found out our state was bankrupt and they were trying to find a way to funnel welfare funds away from citizens and back into to government, among other things. Jaha knew he was going to talk and arrested him for tampering with evidence, or leaking government secrets… I can’t remember. But he was gone. I wasn’t even allowed to visit him.”

Bellamy’s hand had come out of nowhere, his fingers lacing through hers as they started up the car again that morning. It anchored her, and for the first time since the moment she agreed to the murder, she felt like herself again.

 

* * *

 

When the sun drops low in the sky, Clarke pulls the car over to the side of the road and shakes Bellamy awake.

“I think we need a break.” She tells him.

They check into a motel at least ten miles away from any civilization, with no internet and a spotty cable connection. It’s as far off the map as they can go.

They try to use as little money as possible, book the cheapest room. It turns out to be a single bed, essentially a double-bed mattress on the floor, and a water-stained ceiling. Clarke takes a shower, and even though it feels like standing under a hose, she needs it. She soaks in the steam for as long as she can, and then wraps herself in the scrap of a towel the maid’s left. When she leaves the bathroom the lights are off, and she can make out the silhouette of Bellamy laying on his back, shirtless.

Her dirty clothes, the same ones she’s been wearing for two weeks, lay in a pile on the floor, but the last thing she wants to do is put them back on. She brushes off the “weirdness” and tucks the towel around her a little tighter, padding over to the bed and lowering herself onto the small space he’s left for her.

“Your hair’s making the pillows all wet.” He mumbles, closer to her ear than she thought he was.

She turns over to face him, gathering up her hair and throwing it back over her shoulder. “Sorry.”

In the dark, she can see the scar on the bridge of his nose, the freckles that are sprinkled across his cheekbones, the bags under his eyes that give away his need for sleep. She can see all of the details and blemishes and contours of his face, the stubble that’s been growing on his jaw from too many days of not shaving and the way he licks his lips as he stares at the ceiling, like he’s willing himself not to look at her.

It’s such a small bed, there’s no way either of them are going to be able to sleep without touching. She swallows her pride and makes contact. This is the only night in a while they’re going to get to sleep in a real bed, and she’s not going to waste it perched on the edge to avoid a little uncomfortable touching.

Not that it’s really that uncomfortable. Bellamy is… well, he’s handsome. She knows that, vaguely, in the back of her mind. That detail didn’t really matter before. At least, not consciously.

Her bare calf is twisted over his pant leg, his arm sprawled out under her neck. Her entire body is buzzing and she hasn’t felt like this in a long time; every single molecule of her is pulling her closer to him. Her head is resting on his bare chest, and she can smell his skin and hear his heart beat.

Being so close to him… it feels safe. Almost like a home. She wonders how that can be true.

“Bellamy?”

“Yeah?” He replies in almost a whisper.

She hates how small her voice sounds in the dark. “Do you regret it?”

There’s a pause, and she feels him stiffen.

“I don’t know.” He says softly, but she can hear it rumble through his chest. “But it happened, and we have to move on.”

After a moment, he tugs her closer to him. She tries not to read into it too much, and fails. She falls asleep sprawled across him, his forearm looped around her lower back and his mouth against the top of her head.

 

* * *

 

When she wakes up, she’s somehow on her side, the towel she was wearing just barely still covering her at all. Her back is pressed flush against Bellamy’s front, and she can feel… well, she can feel _something_ pressing into her a little harder than anything else.

She shifts back against him, the tingles in her lower abdomen returning from the night before. His arm is still protectively draped around her stomach, keeping her securely against him without making her feel trapped. She hasn’t felt this comfortable in weeks, maybe even ever.

“Bellamy.” She murmurs without meaning to, and it wakes him up.

“Sorry.” He says gruffly, wriggling away from her. Well, as far away as he can get without falling off the bed, which honestly isn’t very far at all. She thinks he must be apologizing for his body reaction. But she doesn’t want him to.

Clarke turns over and finds her nose brushing against his. His eyes are brown and deep and loaded, searching and lost all at the same time. They _want_ , she can tell, but they wait for her okay.

She closes the gap.

He responds immediately, pushing her flush against him by the hand he’s got on her lower back. Both of them are shocked out of their sleep-haze and Clarke’s fingers curl around the nape of his neck as she licks into his mouth. He kisses her like a starving man, lips and teeth frantic like he’s trying to devour her. She falls into it, the whorl of confusion in her mind about _if this is really the best idea, if this is going to make things difficult, if it’s a rash decision and should have been talked about first_ disintegrates.

Her fingernails slide down over his chest, down his taut stomach to rest her thumbs on his hipbones. His skin feels like it’s overheating, and she wonders if hers does too. Morning is seeping through the motel windows blinds and clings to their bodies in uneven patterns.

Bellamy’s grip squeezes her hips through the towel as she throws one leg over him, dragging him impossibly closer and feeling him hard against the spot she craves contact with. He breaks away from her lips, mouth skidding down her jaw to kiss her neck. He sucks at the skin of her pulse point, and she can’t help but roll her hips against him, biting her lip to stop the moan from making its way out.

He flips them so that she’s under him now, and rips the towel away, leaving her completely bare in front of him. His Adam’s apple bobs as he trails his eyes down her body, mouth practically watering. His hot gaze makes her want to squirm, but before she has the chance to, his mouth drops back to her neck, kissing in a train downward, stopping to take her left nipple into his mouth while thumbing the other. His tongue lavishes her body, like he’d been thinking, dreaming about doing this for a while and he was finally getting his chance. It makes Clarke feel like she’s on fire as she arches up into him.

She realizes, suddenly, that he’s still wearing pants, and brings him back up to her face so she can get them off. Her fingers shake as she pops open the button on his jeans, shoving them down his hips and then down the rest of the way with her feet.

His jaw clenches as she rubs her palm up against his erection. Clarke snakes her hand inside the waistband of his boxers, feeling him hot and solid in her hand as she grips him. Retaliating, his right hand migrates from it’s spot on her waist down to between her legs, the tips of his fingers circling around her clit. Her thighs fall open unabashedly as the two of them touch each other.

“Fuck.” He mutters to himself as she finally tugs his boxers off without breaking contact. She knows how she must look, her hair tangled and fanned out against the pillows and her bare chest heaving - she’s practically out of breath, already, and he’s still just starting to touch her.

Clarke’s overwhelmed with the need for him to be inside her, fuck her into the bed and leave marks all over her, so maybe if something happens today or tomorrow and she never sees him again, she can remember it. He’s watching her like no one ever has before, like something he wants to unravel and savor, like he wants to lay here for hours, never leave the room, never leave the bed.

Two fingers rub against her slit, and this time she can’t stop the moaning that she’d been holding in before. Bellamy pauses for a moment with the strangest look on his face, like victory, almost, and then like desperate need. He plunges two fingers into her, still managing to rub her clit with his wrist.

She strokes him a little faster, in rhythm of how he touches her, before he pulls away.

“Is this okay?” He asks, voice hoarse and almost cursing himself for taking his mouth off her for one second, his eyes searching her face for an answer. He looks more vulnerable than she’s ever seen him. She nods.

He pushes into her slowly, with a strangled sigh. He spares a hand to grip the headboard as the other settles on her waist. Clarke rolls her hips to meet his and he groans. She can almost feel it reverberate in her chest, they’re so close.

His hips snap, and it burns a little, but she can barely feel it with the way he’s rolling her nipple between his fingers and staring down at her like he’s just breathed real air for the first time. Her heart’s beating in her ears and he slows down for a second, driving deep and letting her rock into him and allowing both of them to catch their breath.

She pries her eyes open and meets his. His mouth goes slack as he thrusts into her. He’s so beautiful, the way his body moves and his dark curls stick to his forehead in the heat of the room. The sheets are bunched up under them uncomfortably, but she feels like he’s made time freeze, and nothing can hurt her all of a sudden, now that he’s inside of her and making her entire body simmer and crackle.

He draws her hips up a little higher, plunging into her again and his pace is punishing. He grips at her body like she’s all he has, and maybe that’s true now, maybe she has to get used to that. They need each other, they won’t survive alone. Bellamy buries his face in her neck as he thrusts into her and she can feel the coiling in her abdomen, the sparks beginning and her toes start to curl, her nails digging into his shoulder as she keens, squeezing her eyes shut and letting her body tense up as she orgasms around him.

He cums right after her with a grunt, and narrowly avoids collapsing on top of her.

In the moments after, the silence in the room rings in her ears as she struggles to calm her heart rate back down again. He’s laying next to her and she knows she should say something, they need to sort out what just happened.

Her thoughts are interrupted, however, by a knock at the door.


End file.
